


Lake Tahoe

by RedTeamShark



Category: S.W.A.T. (2003), S.W.A.T. - All Media Types
Genre: Brian Gamble has Daddy Issues, Camping, Fluff, Friends With Benefits to Dating, Friends to Lovers, Homophobia, Homophobic Slurs, M/M, Pre-Canon, Shower Sex, and feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-14
Updated: 2019-05-14
Packaged: 2020-03-02 18:24:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18816490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedTeamShark/pseuds/RedTeamShark
Summary: Two weeks. Practically an eternity, practically an instant.OR: Street and Gamble go camping and try to figure themselves out.





	Lake Tahoe

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guess who had some feelings about S.W.A.T. Boyfriends.
> 
> There's some pretty heavy stuff in the middle dealing with child abuse and homophobic parents, but it's all discussed rather than depicted.

There’s no way.

It has to be a mistake.

He rubs his eyes again, looking from the duty roster for the next month to the station around him. No one else seems to have noticed the mistake. Jim Street looks back at the roster and narrows his gaze, tracing one finger along the row marked _Street, J_. Ten days on, fourteen days off, then another six on. His finger tracks up to _Gamble, B._ and it’s the same layout. Ten days on, fourteen days off, then another six on.

Street doesn’t quite run to the locker room, but it’s a near thing.

Gamble’s late as usual, rushing into his uniform from his civvies, fumbling his gear out of his locker. Street nearly tackles him onto the bench, arms wrapping over his shoulders without shame, voice pitched low in his partner’s ear. “In ten days, you and I are going to Lake Tahoe.” He leans closer, lips ghosting against Gamble’s skin. “For two whole weeks.”

“Bullshit.” Gamble shoves him off, staring, his eyes wide. “Absolutely no fucking way Fuller approved that time off request from both of us.”

“He said it was as much of a vacation for him as for you, Gamble.” Velasquez steps up from the corridor, crossing his arms. “Now gear up and get ready, we’ve got a briefing about last week’s S.W.A.T. call in five minutes.”

Street and Gamble exchange looks, grinning widely. Quickly, Gamble swings an arm around Street’s shoulders, pulling him in and pressing a subtle kiss to his temple. “Lake Tahoe, brother.”

They’re practically walking on clouds for the next week and a half.

* * *

They take Gamble’s truck, load up the back with their camping equipment and food, put Barrel in the front seat between them and leave for Lake Tahoe at three in the morning. The giddy relief of really, truly being on vacation sinks in and they look at each other with unashamed grins. As L.A. fades behind them, they relax even more, turn the radio on and sing along at the top of their lungs in the early morning light. The dog howls along and that gets them both laughing so hard Gamble almost drives right off the endless two lane blacktop.

It’s almost nine hours to get up to the state park, a trip extended by needing to stop every couple of hours and let Barrel out to sniff the different parts of the roadside. Gamble takes off with the dog into the woods at one of the rest areas, his sharp whistle keeping the German Shepherd’s attention from straying too far. Street shakes his head, digs sandwiches and cold sodas out of the cooler for their roadside breakfast.

Sitting at the table with the dog lying under it, panting in the morning sun, they let themselves relax. Let themselves be who they try not to be back home. Gamble sits close to Street, rests his head on his shoulder and takes another bite of the sandwich, the chips he insisted on layering in between the slices of cheese crunching loudly.

“You know, I’ve been a cop too long,” he comments, letting his weight drop a little heavier on Street’s shoulder.

“Yeah?” Not that Street doesn’t know the exact feeling, watching cars pass on the interstate below and mentally clocking their speeds. Most of them are fine, which makes the ones that aren’t stand out even more. “At least we’ve never had to take highway duty.”

“Gunning down bank robbers and meth heads _is_ more exciting than chasing speeders…” Gamble thinks about it, turning and pressing a crumb-roughened kiss into the side of Street’s neck. “Less tits out, though. By the time you’re dealing with S.W.A.T. you’re not really thinking that flashing nip will let you get away with it.”

Street laughs, wrapping an arm around his waist and squeezing. “Next hostage situation, we’ll get Rick to negotiate that the hostage takers can have whatever they want as long as they let the hostages go with tits out.”

It would be annoying that even on vacation, they talk shop… but then Gamble leans up and kisses him, slow and gentle, and all shop talk is forgotten.

* * *

The campground isn’t too bad, mostly wooded with views of the bay. They set up the tent while Barrel runs around barking at and sniffing everything within range of his lead. It’s a cushy set up, perfect for camping out for two weeks. Beats the hell out of using a rock for a pillow in the desert, according to Gamble.

Street snorts, shoving him into the tent and pinning him to the ground pads they’ve laid down. He holds Gamble’s arms up by his head, pressing their foreheads together and watching his eyes. “Two weeks.”

“We’re going to actually camp, right? Hiking and fishing and all that shit? Because I did not drive all this way just to get fucked by you, Jimmy. Can do that at home for much less gas money.” Gamble leans up and kisses him, a hungry counterpoint to his words. They’ll actually camp, sure, but for the time being they don’t have to look over their shoulders, don’t have to watch out for every touch being scrutinized, and that’s something to take advantage of.

They get their shirts off and Street takes his time, tastes every new inch of Gamble’s skin. Sweat and ink and _him_ , a flavor unique to Brian Gamble that he can’t get enough of. He holds his partner down with one hand while the other trails down his stomach, making the muscles there jump and quiver.

“Fuck, Jim, come on…” Gamble arches up as fingers toy with the hem of his jeans, teasing against the button.

“Thought you wanted to go hiking.” He sinks teeth into Gamble’s collarbone, sucks in a mark that would never be allowed back home.

“I swear to god if you blueball me on the _first day_ …”

Street’s hand travels south, cups him through his jeans and squeezes gently. “Let me have fun, Brian. You realize how rarely I get to put my hands all over you? How careful I have to be, not to leave marks that let the whole world know you’re mine?” He lets go of Gamble’s wrists and, obediently, they stay up by the man’s head, fists clenching into the tent canvas. Street sits up on his knees, gazes down at him with new hunger. Flushed and shirtless, little bite marks already tattooing his neck. Chest working with the efforts to stay still, his cock bulging against the front of his jeans. “Fuck… you’re beautiful.”

“And you’re a sap, Jimmy, now get down here and kiss me.” Needy hands pull him back in to meet a needier mouth, both of them moaning as they press together through the layers of their clothes. Gamble rocks up into him, spreading his thighs to either side of Street’s hips, wrapping one leg around him to pull him in closer.

The barking interrupts them just as Street gets a hand into Gamble’s pants and they sigh, the tension of want between them deflating. With an effort, Street detangles himself from his partner’s legs, pulls on a shirt (it’s Gamble’s, but that doesn’t really fucking matter at this point) and tries to will himself calm enough to see what’s going on.

He slips out of the tent to see Barrel taut at the end of his lead, barking up a storm at two kids that are stock-still with terror, their toes just barely over the line between the path and the campsite. They’re not as alone out here as it looks like, something he should really remember. A sharp whistle stops the dog’s barking, though he remains tense on his feet.

“Barrel. At ease.” Street walks over slowly, his eyes on the dog, one hand touching the back of the animal’s head lightly. When Barrel eases back and sits beside him, tongue lolling out, Street looks to the kids. “It’s fine. He’s a little territorial. Kinda gets like…” He glances between them, grinning to the older one. “Like you probably do when your little sister goes through your stuff, right?”

Gamble emerges from the tent, somehow looking more put-together than Street feels. He crosses the campsite to join them, crouches between Barrel and the two wide-eyed kids. “You two okay?”

The older one nods slowly, while the younger leans around to look at the dog over Gamble’s shoulder. “Puppy,” she states simply, her face breaking out into a grin. “Loud puppy.”

Four or five, probably the instigator. Older one’s not quite a teenager, maybe twelve. He sets a hand on his sister’s shoulder, pulling her back gently. “Come on, Mom and Dad’ll be worried.”

“But there’s a _puppy_.”

“Yeah, well…” Gamble ushers them gently from the camp, keeping himself between the kids and Barrel. “That loud puppy doesn’t like people he doesn’t know on his turf. You two come back after supper with your parents and we’ll see if he’s calmed down any.”

The situation defuses when the kids leave, the last tension dropping off Barrel as he lies down. Gamble sighs, dropping onto the grass next to the dog and stroking the top of his head. “Good boy.” He glances to Street with a grin. “Even if the fuckin’ dog blueballed me worse than you ever have.”

“Downside of protection training. Good for bears, though.” Street sits down next to him, one hand trailing up Gamble’s spine and teasing the back of his neck. “You look good in my shirt.”

Gamble tilts his head back, kisses him slow and gentle. “Sap.”

* * *

The kids come back after supper, parents in tow, and Gamble navigates introducing them properly to Barrel. The dog doesn’t so much as whine when the girl steps onto the campsite, though he turns and looks to Street briefly when she reaches out and touches his fur.

“He’s a police dog,” Gamble explains to the kids as they inspect Barrel, his eyes tracking every move the dog makes. “He keeps me and my partner safe when we’re keeping you safe. And when we get to go on vacation, so does he.”

“Seems sort of dangerous, to have him out here.”

Street takes that one, joining the kids’ mother at the edge of the campsite. “Not at all, ma’am. He’s harnessed in and his lead’s staked so that he can’t get past the campsite perimeter. Anything breaks perimeter, his training is to first alert us--like earlier when your kids came by. Has the side effect of being pretty fu-fricking terrifying when he gets barking like that.”

“He’ll only attack if he perceives you as a threat,” Gamble adds, standing up and guiding the kids to step back slightly. He takes a few steps away, whistles once to get Barrel’s attention. “Don’t worry, he knows this is training.” With the dog’s eyes rapt on him, Gamble reaches behind himself like he’s going for a gun. Barrel growls low in his throat, haunches tensing up.

“Gun!” Street snaps and Barrel moves, launches himself across the campsite and up onto Gamble, sending him stumbling back. He falls to the ground with a hundred and ten pounds of snarling German Shepherd on him, his arms up over his face and throat. “Barrel, off!”

The dog seems to switch personalities, licking Gamble’s arms and face, climbing off him and sitting obediently at his side as Gamble sits up. His tongue lolls out lazily, eyes tracking as Street goes to the truck for one of the treats.

“He’s one of the smartest dogs I’ve ever met. Knows commands like those, plus a handful of other useful ones. And he knows each of us just by how we whistle.” Gamble ruffles Barrel’s fur lightly, taking Street’s hand and pulling himself up. “Not to mention he’s been pushing us to improve our running times. Damn dog can run a 5k in twenty-eight minutes.”

“I mean, the dog isn’t the only one that can do that, you just don’t like getting up early to train.” Street laughs, fighting the urge to pull Gamble in closer. Not in front of people. Not even strangers.

They wave the family off and get to starting up a fire as the sun goes down, breaking out the beers once the flames are warming the air around them. Street leans back on a blanket, propping himself up on one arm. After tossing another log onto the fire, Gamble joins him, slides in close and steals the beer bottle from his hand. He takes a swig, passing it back and making a face. “How do you drink that pisswater?”

“It’s better than the sugar rush you call a drink.” He grins, pressing a kiss to the corner of Gamble’s mouth. “Seriously, all that sugar can’t be good for you.”

“You sound like a mom.”

Street laughs, sitting back and taking another drink, letting his arms drape around Gamble’s shoulders. “Mom? Nah. You can call me daddy if you want, though.”

“Only if you promise to spank me when I’m a bad boy.”

“Harder to resist the urge to spank you, the way you behave.” His hand trails down, nails scratching lightly against Gamble’s stomach. “The real question is…” Street’s voice lowers, his teeth catching the metal in Gamble’s ear and tugging gently. “What sort of treat do you get when you’re good?”

The fire’s warm, but Gamble still shivers, arching his back up. “I can think of a few ideas.” He snags the beer from Street’s hand again, taking a drink before passing it back. “You owe me an orgasm from earlier.”

“Just one?”

They stay out by the fire until nearly midnight, sharing beers and kisses, their teasing touches and comments growing more bold as it gets quieter around them. Most of the park will clear out in the coming days, the weekenders heading back to the city. According to the occupancy board at the front lodge, they’ll be on their own in this area for four straight days.

Street lays awake that night after they crawl into the tent, propped up on one arm and watching Gamble sleep in the near darkness. Moonlight through the tent canvas just barely outlines him, a tangle of blankets and bare limbs, sleeping face-first in a pillow. He leans in, kisses the back of the other man’s neck gently before settling down to sleep pressed tight to him.

Two weeks. Practically an eternity, practically an instant.

* * *

Gamble laughs uproariously as he runs and jumps off the pier  into the lake, tucking himself into a ball and making a splash. He swims back to the surface, treading water with his feet and splashing at Street still on the concrete pier. “Coward!” He calls out the taunt, pushing himself to float away on his back. He closes his eyes, basking in the warm sun overhead and the cold water below.

It’s a calculated risk, and it certainly pays off. Gamble barely gets the warning of footsteps on concrete before Street is splashing next to him, sending him flailing for buoyancy in the churning waters.

They fuck around for almost an hour, swimming out into the deeper water, ducking each other under, acting like absolute madmen. Street surfaces and shakes his head, droplets of water flying off his hair and Gamble has to swallow in the urge to kiss him here and now.

Except he doesn’t, he reminds himself, swimming closer, trailing a hand up the other man’s chest. He presses their lips together as they tread water, the kiss cut short when he forgets to keep swimming and almost drowns them both.

Climbing out of the water, they drop onto the pier, breathing hard and looking up at the sky. Street’s hand finds his and links together, squeezing for a moment. “Hey…”

“Yeah?” He doesn’t let go as he rolls over onto his stomach, that much closer to Street, his arm now pinned under him as the sun begins to warm his back.

“I’m glad we’re partners.”

Gamble snorts into his folded arm, squeezing the hand in his briefly. “Sap.” He squeezes again. “I am, too.”

They walk back to camp with their hands linked, damp towels tossed over their shoulders. Every time they pass someone tension crawls into both of them, but Street has their fingers defiantly laced together, refuses to let go. Gamble meets the eyes of anyone who looks too long, lets them look him in the face and decide if it’s really worth their time to comment.

Back at camp they hang up their wet clothes to dry, change into gear better suited for hiking. Barrel can come on the trails with them, though they’ll have to keep him leashed. While he’s usually fine around people with one or both of them near at hand, new environments can mess with his simple perceptions of the world.

Street seems intent on keeping his promise to actually camp, their morning swim followed by an afternoon hike. They track up and down most of the trails on this side of the inlet, sweaty and mosquito-bitten when they get back to their tent. Gamble freshens up Barrel’s water, ducking into the tent when Street calls for him.

“Well, this is a welcome sight…” He’d lean in the doorway if he could, really take his time to admire the view of Street on hands and knees, ass to him. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Ha-ha, Bri. Have you seen my shave kit? I was gonna hit the showers and I can’t find it.”

Gamble leans in, looking through the strewn about items. He closes his eyes for a moment, mentally counting backwards to packing after work. Neither one of them had wanted to have anything to do at three in the morning, except…

Except get ready for the day. “Motherfucker. It’s on the bathroom counter at your apartment.”

“Son of a bitch.”

Gamble pulls him over, strokes a hand down the barely-there stubble on the side of his face. “I’ve never seen you with a beard, you know.”

“You’re not gonna want to. I look like a goddamn high schooler.”

“Yeah that only makes me wanna see it more.” He kisses Street’s chin, grinning. “You with one of those little pencil mustaches? I’ll take it.”

“So you say until you have it. Did you bring your shave kit?” Street huffs, letting himself be pulled down until he’s settled on top of Gamble. It’s far too warm in the tent to be comfortable, with the heat of the day just starting to fade, but as long as they’re both sweaty he won’t complain.

“Left it at home. I was planning to go full wildman during this trip.” Gamble grins, his hands cupping Street’s cheeks, pulling him in for another slow kiss. “I look fucking hot with a beard.”

“Guess we don’t have a choice but to find out. Showers then dinner?”

“Showers then dinner.” And maybe fucking in the showers in between, if there’s no one else around.

The showers are a degree more private than either of them expected, a long building like a trailer with individual rooms containing a changing area and shower stall, along with a toilet and sink. It only takes a glance for them to slip into the same room, flipping the lock on the door.

Street pins Gamble against it, kisses him with ferocity as they struggle to disrobe each other. “No interruptions.”

“Not even the fuckin’ dog.”

Somehow, they take their hands off each other long enough to get naked, move far enough into the room to be in the stall of the shower. Street flips the water on and they both cuss loudly as it blasts them with cold before the temperature climbs to a more tolerable level.

It’s Gamble’s turn to pin his partner, shove Street face-first to the wall and pepper his neck and shoulders with kisses and bites under the spray. He reaches around, teases a hand along Street’s thigh before moving it up, holding his hips still and pressing into him. “I left the lube at camp.”

“I got an idea.” Street braces his arms on the wall, pushes back enough to turn to face him. He pulls Gamble in to another kiss, their bodies sliding together in the steamy air. One hand snakes between them, wraps around Gamble’s hard cock and strokes gently. “I’m gonna fuck you until you’re screaming tonight,” he promises, voice low and rough. It pulls a shiver from Gamble, not at all helped by the way Street’s hand squeezes around his cock.

Still, he’s not one to back down from a challenge. “Not before I ride you until you’re unconscious, cowboy.” Gamble’s hand closes around Street’s cock, pumping slow, his thumb rubbing against the sensitive skin just under the head. “I’m gonna beat my record from Reno,” he adds as he leans in, leaves a bite and then a kiss on Street’s collarbone. “By the time I’m done with you, you won’t know how to say anything but my name.”

“Fuck, Brian--”

“Just like that, baby. Just like that…” He’s better at the dirty talk and he damn well knows it, knows just what buttons to push to get Street hot and bothered. Gamble might like taking it up the ass, but that’s not the same as giving up control of the situation, as he’s proven time and again. “Move your hand, I got you.”

His hand wraps around both of them, fingers curling as he hisses in a breath. Gamble leans in to assault Street’s neck with tongue and teeth, pumping faster. He can feel the other man shaking apart against him, fingers scrambling for purchase on his wet back, feet slipping in the damp shower. Not that he’s doing much better in the self-control department, breathing hard and fast into Street’s skin, his hand squeezing almost convulsively.

Gamble loses it to the sound of his name on Street’s lips, to the high, begging need in his voice. He spills on his hand, on both their stomachs, and the shower washes it away before it even cools. Gamble presses his forehead to Street’s chest, still jerking them both, his cock twitching with oversensitivity. “Come on, babe, cum for me…”

The hand in his hair is half request, half warning, and Gamble leans up on his toes, seals his mouth over Street’s and swallows the scream as the man cums.

They both lean on the shower wall, panting for breath, their hands slower on each other, gentler. With effort, they manage to actually get cleaned up, to soap up and wash their hair, switching places under the spray as they need to.

Gamble catches him again before they can get dressed, wraps his arms around Street’s waist from behind and kisses the back of his neck. “Four times. I made you cum four times in a day in Reno. And I got started a lot earlier.”

Street shivers in his arms, leaning his weight back into him. “Just don’t break my cock two days into the trip, hm?”

“No promises.”

* * *

They do manage to eat dinner before Gamble resumes ruining him. Between bites of burger, Street glances over to Gamble, his voice low. “You’re good with kids, you know.”

Gamble freezes with his hands near his mouth, something unreadable on his face. He takes a big bite, takes his time chewing, and washes it down with a swallow of beer. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Those two yesterday, you diffused way better than I was doing. And I know that being Officer Safety is a shit detail that’s mostly used as punishment, but when you head to the schools the kids seem to actually listen.” Street shrugs, looking away. “You ever think about having kids?”

“Kinda hard when you’re exclusively into dick. Besides… parents just fuck you up.”

They drop the subject, turn their attention instead to the campfire, the beers, and the resumed intimacy from earlier. Gamble straddles Street’s lap, arms twining around his neck. “Come on, cowboy, show me what you’ve got.”

It doesn’t particularly matter that they’re out in the open. Not in this moment, with the warmth between them and Street’s hands leaving a trail of sparks up the insides of his thighs. Gamble rocks forward with a moan, grinning as he pins the other man to the ground.

Street leans up into him, catches his grin with a biting kiss, pulls him down flush together and rocks his hips up. They have to get to the tent before they start getting naked, but there’s no law against dry humping through their clothes like a couple of horny teenagers.

Once they do make it inside, however, Gamble makes good on his promise. By the time the moon rides high over the trees and their fire has burned to embers, Street is only able to pant his partner’s name, to pull him closer in the dark and hold onto him. They don’t break the Reno record, but that’s not for lack of trying on Gamble’s part. He brings them both to a mind-numbing third orgasm before giving up, falling to the side and curling close to Street.

“God… fuck, Brian…” Street rolls over, wraps his arms around him and holds tight.

He laughs, wiggles back against him and gets comfortable. “You did.”

Street bites his shoulder for that, before trailing a hand up his arm, tracing his tattoos in the dark. He hums softly, nosing under Gamble’s jaw and getting comfortable. “Smartass…”

They should clean up, at least a little bit. Make sure the fire is safely out. Put some pants on. All of that seems like too much work, however. The mere thought of moving out of their bubble of comfort and warmth is unspeakable. Instead they drift to sleep, curled around each other.

* * *

It’s not that things aren’t good. Things are great. Besides hiking, swimming, and more sex than he’s ever had in his life, getting to just be Jim and Brian, instead of Officer Street and Officer Gamble, is a welcome change of pace. But they’re partners, they know how to read each other, and Street knows when something is wrong with Gamble.

He gives in to the urge to ask as the weekend begins, as the campground fills up on Friday afternoon and their affections are forced to become more subtle. Walking Barrel along the trail towards the lodge for ice and firewood, he sneaks a hand out and links his fingers with Gamble’s. Something they’ve been doing on and off all week, more and more brazen, but this time the other man pulls away as if his hand burns.

“Brian--”

“Not here.”

The conversation or the handholding or both. Street pauses, turns to look him over closely. “Back at camp.” Not a request.

“Fine.”

They bring the supplies back in two heaping canvas bags, dump the ice into the cooler and the wood beside the fire pit. Street gets to making dinner while Gamble drops onto their customary blanket, calling Barrel over and burying his face in the soft fur of the dog’s neck.

“Talk to me, Bri,” Street offers, passing him a plate of camp staples, beans and potato salad and a hot dog all but dripping with condiments. “‘Cause if you don’t talk to me… Well, my head’s starting to come up with some pretty awful stuff.”

Gamble makes a face, defiantly shoving a forkful of beans into his mouth rather than talk. He grabs a beer from the cooler, pressing himself just a bit closer to Barrel. A bit further away from Street. “I’m your first guy, right?”

“Yeah. I mean before you I thought I was only interested in women.”

“Well, you’re not my first.” He takes a long drink, turning the bottle in his hands. “There was this guy in high school, back when I was first starting to realize that pussy didn’t interest me. We made friends and I had him over and my old man, he takes me aside afterwards and he goes ‘that boy’s one of them queers, ain’t he?’ and I didn’t think much of it and said ‘yes, sir’ and he got this look on his face and…” Gamble’s shoulders shake for a moment, before he inhales and exhales slowly, calms himself down. “Starts talking about how no goddamned faggot was gonna be under his roof and asking if I was a fuckin’ pansy too and--”

“Jesus, Brian--”

“Yeah, well, that was my old man.” He finishes his beer, tosses the bottle aside and grabs another. “He was military, you know. Army. Never made it past general infantry. Two tours in ‘Nam. Then he was a cop, just a street beat guy in a podunk town in Iowa. Wanted to become a detective.”

Gamble wipes a hand against his mouth, finally moving closer to Street, setting a hand on his thigh. “You think I have a problem with authority now, living under his roof I was a real shit. Sneaking out almost every night, drinking, smoking, drugs… Hooking up with guys, letting them do whatever just… just ‘cause I knew he didn’t want me to. Hell, I’m surprised I didn’t get AIDS or something. So one night I sneak back in with a guy and there’s my old man, up waiting for me. He took a belt to me and told me to get the fuck out. I listened. A week later, he crashed his squad car chasing some speeding teenagers. Mom never lifted a finger to stop him from beating on me, but she found me and dragged me back, made me go to his fuckin’ funeral like I really gave a shit that he was dead. Then she sat me down and said that it didn’t matter what was between me and him, because now it was me and her. Like I was just supposed to forget all that other shit.” He sighs, drops his head to Street’s shoulder, closes his eyes. “I listened. Finished high school. Joined the Army. Made the Rangers. Managed to have no one ask and I sure as fuck didn’t tell. Got outta there, became a cop, made S.W.A.T. Met someone that makes me actually fuckin’ happy, along the way. I’ve got everything he ever would have wanted… And I can’t even rub his fucking face in it.”

Street reaches up, strokes his hair back slowly.

After a moment, Gamble presses on. “So, yeah. Parents just fuck you up. And I never thought about how bad until… Until we were walking down on the beach, holding hands, and I wasn’t ashamed or anything like that. And then I thought of us doing it back home and just about puked. Parents fuck you up real bad, Jimbo. They make you scared to be happy.”

He doesn’t have words for this. Street turns, presses a gentle kiss to Gamble’s forehead. Lies down slowly with him on the blanket, his arms wrapped tight around the man’s shoulders. Finally, his lips move, brushing against Gamble’s forehead. “We don’t have to do things you’re scared of.”

Gamble laughs into his chest, the sound hitching slightly, choking. “Too late. Been terrified to love you since the day we met, but… Here I am.”

It’s just a word, but his heart lurches into his throat anyways. Love. It’s the first time either of them has said it. It’s not just friendship or just sex. He presses another kiss to Gamble’s forehead, closing his eyes. “Then I’ll show you that being in love isn’t something to be afraid of.”

* * *

Between the emotional exhaustion and the hangover, Gamble doesn’t actually roll over to wake up until close to eleven the next morning. He kicks the sleeping bags aside impatiently, propping himself up on one arm and looking to the zipped up doorway of the tent. “Jim?”

“Oh, hey…” The slide of the zipper drops the canvas door, letting in both a welcome cool breeze and Street’s gentle smile. “Morning, lazy.”

Pain spikes into his head and he groans, flopping back again. Memories follow, the things they’d talked about… curling up and fighting down tears with Street’s arms around him. Unsuccessfully fighting them down, with the way his eyes are burning. “God, fuck…”

Street crawls into the tent beside him, taking his hand, pulling it up and kissing his knuckles lightly. “Come on, let’s get some coffee into you and toss you through the shower. See if you start to feel human again.”

Coffee and a shower. Those sound better than lying here, wallowing in his damn feelings. Gamble lets himself be pulled from the tent, dropping onto the bench of the picnic table and sipping the cup of coffee placed in front of him. Normally it isn’t his speed, especially not straight black, but hot coffee and a hotter shower are about the only hangover cure that really works. He staggers his way to the shower trailer alone, locks himself in and stands under the heated spray until his skin is red and the entire room looks like someone tossed a smoke grenade into it.

Exercising his problems away is really more of Street’s thing, but going back to camp and having to talk about last night--figure out what he remembers saying and what he only dreamt--sounds like a worse torture. Gamble runs the trails that circle the bay, not pacing himself, pushing until his lungs burn and his legs are shaking. He stops at the beach on the far side of the trail, looking across the water. The pier that they’d been swimming off of most mornings is across the way, a few people walking along the concrete surface. He drops to sit on the sand, looking up to the sky so crystal clear blue it’s almost white.

_Being in love isn’t something to be afraid of._

That had been real, he’s almost positive. Real words that the real Jim Street had spoken to him. It wasn’t just friends or partners or fuckbuddies, that word, using that word, shoved them to a whole new level. One he isn’t sure he’s ready to be on. One he isn’t sure he should even try for.

His rumbling stomach finally sends him back to camp, just in time for lunch. Street doesn’t comment on his absence, because along with all the other things that make him just too damn perfect for an idiot like Brian Gamble, he knows when not to push a subject.

They’ll talk about it at some point, probably. Not this afternoon, however. Maybe not during this trip. There’s only five days of vacation left, and getting bogged down with a bunch of touchy-feely talk about his daddy issues doesn’t sound like much of a vacation.

* * *

Street gives him the rest of the weekend to get himself together. On Monday, however, he pins Gamble in the tent, kisses him with passion that speaks his intent better than any words. Gamble sighs, wriggling in a token effort to escape. “You asshole.”

“Look who’s talking.” Street holds him down firmly, pressing gentler kisses along his jaw and down his neck. “If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine, but… Let me show you, okay?”

His half-hearted protests die when lips meet his with sweet slowness, when hands run softly down his arms and over his chest. “Getting my brains fucked out ain’t really something I have a problem with, Jimmy.”

Street’s grin is almost as dangerous as Gamble’s usual. “Who said anything about fucking your brains out?” He trails his fingertips down Gamble’s torso, slowly rakes his shirt back up and over his head. His hands go to every inch of skin, his mouth following with soft kisses and softer words. Street teases his tongue against the ink spelling up Gamble’s right forearm, humming softly. “You have a scar under the M. I can feel it.”

He shivers helplessly, closing his eyes, trying to keep breathing. “I fell out of a tree when I was seven. Compound fracture on my radius. Or ulna, I don’t remember. That’s where the bone broke the skin.” Street moves down to his hand, turning it, kissing each of his fingertips and his palm.

“You’ve got a lot of scars.”

“I’ve done a lot of stupid things.”

“Mm…” No disagreement there. Street moves to his other hand, administers the same gentle treatment before working his way back up, tasting skin and ink. “I like your scars, Bri.”

He twists on his back, body surging up--in an effort to escape or an effort for more, he’s not sure. It’s too much and not enough all at once, his mind trying to race ahead, to know where this ends.

“Shh…” Street kisses him again, slow and sweet, and his thoughts cut off like a door slamming. “Let me take care of you,” he whispers, dark eyes locked on Gamble’s, calming the stormy seas of his mind. _You don’t have to be afraid_ , Street’s gaze says, _I’ve got you_.

He surrenders himself to it, eases back onto the sleeping bag, allows those hands and that mouth to resume exploring him. His neck, his collar bones, across his chest and down his ribs. Street kisses his stomach, his hands sliding over the insides of Gamble’s denim-covered thighs. Every touch is like fire, even through his clothes, molten arousal pooling in his stomach, racing through his bloodstream. Nimble fingers undo the button on his jeans, slide the zipper down tooth by tooth, and Gamble drops an arm over his own mouth to muffle the noises of unimpeded _want_ that are trying to claw out of his throat. He lifts his hips as his jeans are pulled down, back staying arched when strong hands massage the backs of his thighs.

They don’t usually take things slow. Sure, they might tease and build up, but by the time the pants come off, both of them are normally so hot for it that getting to the next step is the only goal. So when Street doesn’t remove his briefs right away, instead leans down lower and presses kisses to his throbbing cock through the cotton, he’s not sure what to do. Not sure what Street wants from him. Not even sure how to ask.

“Roll over?” The request comes with hands prodding his sides, guiding him onto his stomach. The blessing of friction, of something to rut against, is quickly overwhelmed by the all-encompassing sensation of Street’s weight on him, chest pressed to his back, the same slow careful attention to every inch of his skin applied from behind. Little kisses and bites, hands that run slowly down his spine, along his sides, until he’s left raw with want, panting into the pillows. His briefs are still on, but Gamble feels like every inch of himself has been laid bare, has been brought to Street’s attention in its own way.

“Fuck, Jim…” He moves his hips up when hands grasp them, groans as his briefs are finally slid down, taken away. “Just fuck me already, man.”

“Not yet.” Street strokes the inside of his thigh, moves one finger up and over him, gently prodding his hole. “I told you, I’m gonna take care of you.” The hands leave him and Gamble lets out a low whine before he can stop himself, looking over his shoulder. _Fuck_ , it shouldn’t be so hot to be laid bare, spread and wanting, while Street’s still fully clothed behind him. That should definitely fall on the _embarrassing_ side of his brain, not the _really fucking hot_ side.

Street’s hand is back on him, stroking his hair, moving down his neck and over his back. He hisses as chilly lubricant drips into his crack, eyes squeezing shut. “A little warning next time, yeah?”

“Sorry, I thought it’d be warmed up.” Lips press to his shoulder, as Street’s hand moves down further, glides through the lube and gently presses one finger into him. “Brian, look at me, okay?”

Turning his head sounds like work, but he rolls his eyes up, meets Street’s gaze and gives a little smile. His hips rock back as that finger begins to work in and out of him, his breath coming faster. “You should get naked.”

“Yeah? Maybe soon.” One finger becomes two, Street’s other hand finding his, linking their fingers together. He prods deeper, presses down and draws out slowly and Gamble just barely gets his arm up in time to muffle his shout, his hand squeezing convulsively.

“Holy fuck.” Goddamn, _that_ sensation is new. He thrusts his hips back, trying to help Street angle to find it again. “Do that again. Holy shit.”

“What was that?”

“Dunno, but if you don’t--” His words choke off into a cry, hips stuttering, eyes rolling back with pleasure. Getting fucked has never felt like _that_ before and goddamn, he’s going to have to figure out what that is so that it can feel like that again. Gamble squeezes Street’s hand tighter, panting for breath. “I’m gonna lose it if you keep that up, Jimmy.”

The fingers withdraw slowly and he whines, shame at the noises he’s making a distant memory. Gamble lets himself be rolled over, holds his arms out and pulls Street closer, kisses him slow and gentle. “What’re you doin’ to me?”

“Showing you.” Street kisses him again, pulls back slow and takes a few minutes to shed his own clothing. He settles himself between Gamble’s legs, rubs the insides of his thighs and watches his face. “I wanted to take things slow, to…” He bites his lip, his cheeks flushing pink. “Make it something more than just fucking. You’re more to me than just someone to get off with, Bri.”

That twists something in his stomach, a hard little knot pulling tighter and tighter before releasing. His heart hammers into his throat and Gamble throws an arm over his face. He breathes through his mouth, rapid and shallow, forcing down the unexpected tears that sting his eyes. When his arm lowers, Street is still looking at him, his eyebrows just starting to knit together in concern. His hand moves down, finds Street’s and squeezes again.

“You’re a sap. Thanks. This… I like this. You like it, too, right?”

“Yeah. I like it, too.”

They grin at each other, cementing the moment together, before Gamble rocks his hips impatiently. “Okay but if you don’t get inside me _right fucking now_ I’m gonna kick you out of the tent and just jerk off.”

Street laughs, grabbing the lube and slicking himself, sliding in with one smooth thrust of his hips. “You’re too impatient.” He braces over Gamble, lets himself be pulled in closer until they’re chest to chest, mouths meeting again and again.

It’s there again, that sensation when Street pulls away, and his legs move without thought, wrapping around him, keeping him there. His back arches, nails digging in to the other man’s shoulders as he rocks into the feeling, into the release it promises.

He’s not even aware that he’s chanting Street’s name like a prayer until he hears the voice in his ear, whispering his name in the spaces between. Gamble pulls him in tighter, lets him draw out again, and rides the sensation of the slow slide of a cock against him from inside. It’s building, his body tensing, shaking, his fingers hooking into claws as he climbs for it until--

The only reason he doesn’t scream is Street’s mouth on his, warm and soft and holding him together while he falls apart. He drops back to the blanket, utterly boneless, his eyes closing and body twitching as Street moves inside him. When that stops Gamble opens his eyes a crack, watching Street’s face as he cums. Damn, but he loves watching the other man orgasm.

They lie next to each other for a long while afterwards, sweaty and spent, Street’s head on his chest listening to his slowly calming heartbeat.

The words that finally pass his lips take him by surprise, both for their coherency and their content. Gamble leans down slightly, kisses the top of Street’s head and exhales slowly. “Do you love me?”

“Yeah.” Zero hesitation, zero worry. Street tilts his head back slightly, dark eyes meeting his. “I love you, Brian Gamble.”

“Sap.” He grins, pulling the man up slowly, kissing him gently. “I love you, Jim Street.”

His gut doesn’t twist with fear to say it out loud. That has to be a step in the right direction.

* * *

Two weeks. Practically an eternity. Practically an instant.

Gamble slams the tailgate of the truck with a sigh, looking around their campsite. The fire pit is just cold charcoal now, the space that held the tent only matted grass. There’s a pile of melting ice in one corner, a fresh hole in the ground from Barrel’s stake. He brushes his hands off on the seat of his pants, walking around the site one last time, looking for anything they may have left behind.

Street’s return is heralded by barking and he looks up as the man and the dog rejoin him. “All packed up.”

“And big guy just had a three mile run, so we should be good for the trip back.”

He hesitates to get into the truck, his eyes meeting Street’s. They haven’t talked about going back. About who they’ll be once they’re at the precinct again. Gamble steps closer, letting his forehead drop to Street’s shoulder. “Next vacation.”

“Next vacation,” Street agrees quietly, wrapping his arms around him, kissing the top of his head. “Unless you want to do something different.”

It’s not like they won’t see each other again. They fucking work together, are known as best friends, hang out at the bar after work and get together on weekends. But it’s different. There’s something different between them now. Something that they can’t have back in L.A.

Gamble tilts his head up, leans in and kisses him slowly. “Don’t stop loving me. Please.”

“Never, Brian. Absolutely never.”

They part reluctantly, get into the truck with the dog settling in between them. Gamble backs out of the campsite, his eyes lingering on it before he focuses on the road and drives away.

He doesn’t have to be afraid to be happy.

Not if that happiness comes attached to Jim Street.


End file.
